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500 Degreez (song)
500 Degreez is the 12th song off 500 Degreez by Lil Wayne. Lyrics 500 degreez this time biotch Yes sir, you already know wayne verse 1 You see me? I eat, sleep, shit, and talk snaps; so fuck rap Man I got weed, pills, pistols, all crack Bitch niggas where ya hearts at? Ya'll ain't stuntin' like us Bitch niggas where ya cars at? They like, "wayne why the fuck you dressed in all black?" I'm about to bring cmr back And all the lames, we done lost that And all we got is weezy, weezy, and lil' weezy to fall back I'm about to lock it from the summer to the fall and back "Its weezy baby!" the ballers back And the wheels on my car you got all of that Stop playing, I've been balling jack You don't want my glock spraying – I hit all them cats You don't want my stomach ache - I shit on them cats I get all them gats – fresh and b it's all a rap! If I'm the only hot boy what do you call that? Chorus You don't want to fuck with weezy You don't want to fuck with weezy wayne Bitch what? I'll bust ya ass up Don't even go there round Niggas get your cash up We probably need to clash up And shit got me 'bout ass up They finding niggas in they shit with they ass up It ain't october 31st but we gone mask up – and guess what And I heard they got a nice chain And for the right price I'll bust the right brain And mommy hot cause pull up in that white thang Yo nigga might be fly but I still get trifling Riding through the city just me and my friend Friday night special, professional tight aim A gangsta is who you hearing Me in my building with 20 bricks in the ceiling I'm more real than, I got more scrill than Got more skill than them there I'm a cash money millionaire Chorus You don't want to fuck with weezy You don't want to fuck with weezy Hot boy, hot, hot, hot boy, hot, hot, hot boy Hot, hot, hot boy wayne Baby let me get the keys to the rover No, let me get the keys to the house in eastover So I can throw a 500 degreez platinum party Than the after party Me and my squad stomping in this bitch Fuck a bachelor party Don't go to rapper parties – I'm no rapper man But when the homies come home we throw a monster jam And all my people tote chrome – we some monsters man We gone mob to the promise land I bought big – I'm a tymer man Son of a stunna – still a girl fuck with a hustler! Weezy keep it gutter for ya baby bubba Baby blue mercedes coupe – got it bullet proof Make me shoot my 80 duke at your fucking roof You're fucking with a big dog, nigga fucking woof Mr. s-fucking-q – I'm the fucking truth Three stripes, baby nice, lot of ice fucking ooohf! That's 500 degreez! Chorus You don't want to fuck with weezy You don't want to fuck with weezy Hot boy, hot, hot, hot boy, hot, hot, hot boy Hot, hot, hot boy Bitch get your mind right, bitch get your mind right